


MASSES OF MEDDLING, CONSTANTLY

by Broba



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Crossover, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Medical, Other, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-09
Updated: 2014-06-12
Packaged: 2018-02-04 02:13:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1762665
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Broba/pseuds/Broba
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is a direct sequel to EVEN MORE CONSTANT MEDDLING, and takes place in the same AU wherein following the game the kids, and the trolls, have more-or-less integrated peacefully and without much fanfare into modern human society post-game.</p><p>The alien visitors represent a new frontier in medical science with their oddly unique biologies, and when one of them gets ill human doctors have no experience to work with. Who do you turn to when a diagnosis seems impossible, and a patient is a candy-coated mystery wrapped in a shitty enigma? </p><p>The requester of the original EVEN MORE CONSTANT MEDDLING prompt specifically wanted me to go back to it and do more, and it was such a sweet request I couldn't resist</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
  
    Roxy grinned happily and reached for her glass with one hand while the other danced across the keys with a noise like an argumentative lobster. Another paragraph, and she was done. She gave the pages of text she had been working on a cursory glance and nodded in satisfaction. The chapter was completed, and now it was her partner's turn to take over writing duties on _“Wizardly Herbert and the Box of One Million Ravens,”_ the latest volume of their collaboration. Roxy noted with some irritation the number of red-wiggly-underlined words that the spellchecker angrily pointed out to her, and ignored them. She was certain that her writing was _basically_ sound, and if there were a few editorial polishes to be applied then her writing partner never seemed to mind helping out.  
  
Roxy got up and stretched with a grunt, before making her way through the paper-strewn chaotic mess that they referred to as the “writing room” out into the apartment proper. Since the end of the game she had been sharing the place with her best friend, partner in crime and fellow author. Their books were considered niche, but they sold enough to the online crowd to keep the rent coming in. The reviews of their work ranged from the incredulous to the devoted, and it was a point of intense contention among the fan community whether they were serious or practising an enormous and elaborate exercise in trolling.  
“Hey-y-y,” she called out, “it's your turn, sis! I'm done, woo!”  
  
Rozy turned around on the spot, dancing slowly and making 'woo' noises, careful not to spill too much of her drink. The writing room was a complete mess, reflecting their conflicting and complementary styles, but the apartment itself was largely well-kept and comfortable. Her room-mate liked to keep a pleasant standard of upkeep to their surroundings.  
“Come o-o-o-on!” Roxy shouted, “you better not be falling asleep again!”  
Roxy winked as her room-mate wandered in, drying her hands from where she had been doing the dishes with a neat little hand-towel that she kept just for the purpose. It was monogrammed.  
“You don't have to yell, I can hear you just fine! You're such a galumphing mess sometimes, Roxy!”  
“Aww you don't mean that, take it back take it back take it back,” Roxy jumped over and prodded at Calliope's side teasingly, eliciting a series of uncontrollable giggles from the cherub.  
“Roxy! Rox! No! Nono, stop, stop that at once!”  
Roxy did stop, in order to take a moment to finish her drink, and then the tickling proceeded apace.  
  
Calliope tolerated Roxy's wild and unstoppable attack with as much aplomb as she could muster, and allowed herself to be herded towards the writing room. Their walls were covered in a selection of pictures, most of them framed, enlarged photographs. The pictures of Calliope were skewed and badly-focussed, as though the hand holding the camera were less then careful. In contrast the pictures of Roxy were demure and very carefully composed. The apartment was decorated in a weirdly clashing décor that combined elements of pastel-pink chintz and vivid green highlights everywhere. They had truly made the place their own, and since the end of the game they had come to a routine that worked for them. Unfortunately, this routine demanded no small measure of discipline at times. Especially when it came to dealing with the third member of their little family.  
  
Calliope sat herself down neatly at the computed and looked over the work that Roxy had just finished, trying not to wince too visibly. The girl could certainly write, but the words came out of her in a torrent, splashing over the page and roaring back to reveal lurking bergs of capitalised, shouting phrases lurking in the prose. As ever, Calliope resigned herself to taking some time re-writing the most egregious of Roxy's grammatical experimentation before starting her own work. She glanced at the clock warily. She could stay awake for a good twelve or so hours a day, but little more then that. Inevitably she would get weary, or perhaps notice some reminder of her erstwhile brother which would flip that mental switch inside her and then it would be his turn. More then once Roxy had returned to the writing room after a long session to find that Calliope's carefully composed section had been overwritten with a stream of vivid curses in bright red. And always in Comic Sans, just to twist the knife. Caliborn hated their collaborations very nearly as much as he hated everything else he was personally aware of.  
  
They had tried to reason with him. They had even tried to appease him- with the proceeds of their work together, Roxy and Calliope were able to furnish Caliborn with only the most sickeningly saccharine candy and only the finest steak. Caliborn took what he was given, demanded more, and then would announce his intention to continue trying to ruin everything. Were it not for him, Roxy and Calliope would have enjoyed a peaceful existence. Caliborn hated everything about this world, this Earth, that they had come to inhabit. The only thing that pacified him, and only temporarily, was offerings of food. Little else about Earth culture or human society interested him in the least, these days.  
  
Roxy was taking her turn cooking. Calliope was more then content to do the cleaning up, and Roxy had come to discover quite a hand for cookery. She added liberal doses of wine to everything she came up with, and for an amateur she was learning fast. She had mastered the casserole early, and Jane had been giving her lessons in the finer points of pastries. Roxy whistled to herself softly as she worked, but she kept glancing at the clock on the wall of their little kitchen. She had got used to Calliope's rhythms, and the little signs that she was tiring out. She knew what to look for, and made sure not to leave Calliope alone for any extended period. She poured a glass of orange juice and took it in to the writing room. Calliope smiled at her and nodded, accepting the drink, and Roxy squeezed her arm fondly. It was a little habit that had formed between them; Roxy would find excuses to check on her, and Calliope would pretend not to notice that was what she was doing. It worked for them both. Calliope went to pass the glass back to Roxy, and dropped it on the floor with a smash.  
  
For a moment they both just looked down at the floor, where the pieced of glass twinkled innocently.  
“Uh, Cal? Are you okay?”  
“Oh, I'm awfully sorry, I don't know what happened,” Calliope rubbed at her wrist and sighed, “it hurts.”  
“Again?”  
Calliope nodded, and Roxy took her hand. She examined it, not knowing really what she was looking for, and stroked her fingertips over Calliope's wrist. The cherub winced for a moment.  
“It's him, isn't it,” Roxy growled.  
“I don't think so,” Calliope sighed, “I just feel achey all over. It's a buggeration of a thing it really is.”  
“Is it getting worse?”  
Calliope just shrugged again.  
“It is, isn't it.”  
“I think so,” Calliope answered quietly.  
  
It had started when Calliope groaned one day and had to sit down. They had been walking through a supermarket, avoiding the odd stare from passers-by and children. On the whole the local community had got used to the sight of Calliope by now, and she no longer drew comments. It helped that she was so sweet-natured as to defuse any situation with the sheer force of her personality. That day, it had been her ankle which had given out, and over time it had spread to her knees, her elbows, her wrists. The twinges had turned into aches, and Roxy now believed that Calliope was in a lot more pain generally then she was letting on.  
  
“Come on,” Roxy said, “let's get you to bed, no more writing today, okay?”  
“I feel bad leaving you to it like this, I'm really just malingering.”  
“Don't you give me that, girl. I know when my partner needs her nap!”  
Calliope smiled up at her weakly. You had to know what you were looking for to tell when she was smiling, with the fangs and everything.  
“Thanks, Roxy.”  
“Here, grab on to me.”  
  
Roxy helped her up, and they walked stiffly to the bedroom where Calliope rested. They called it the bedroom, but in fact it would be more appropriate to call it a cell. The bed was comfortable but highly secure with a big brass bedstead, and a thick steel chain that was welded at one end to the leg of the bed, and fastened at the other to a heavy manacle. The walls had been reinforced and there was nothing in the room that could be used as a weapon. Equius had done a diligent job on the place. Calliope's brother was cunning, however. They hadn't figured out how yet, but he was finding some way to hurt her. Roxy had spent long nights by the door, listening. He had raged and flustered and gulped down his dinners with sickening slurping noises but she had never been able to detect any sounds of violence. Somehow, though. Somehow he was managing it. Roxy turned away and fiddled with the manacle while, behind her, Calliope demurely slipped out of her clothes. Calliope's special situation and the unusual demands that it placed on their relationship had fostered a deep intimacy between them but still Roxy liked to give her privacy wherever possible. At the sound of Calliope rustling into her pyjamas- white with a green skull polka-dot pattern- Roxy turned and held out the manacle. Calliope carefully slipped her ankle into the mechanism and Roxy snapped it closed, locking it securely. She kept the key on a chain around her neck for when Calliope awoke.  
  
Roxy pulled the sheets over Calliope, and leaned over to kiss her smooth forehead. Calliope just blinked slowly and smiled up at her.  
“Are you ready?”  
“Yes, thank you,” Calliope nodded.  
“Sweet dreams,”  
“You too.”  
Roxy stood up and took a step back, to the invisible line representing the maximum radius that the occupant of the bed could reach, with those nasty little claws. Roxy took a deep breath, and then said, “Caliborn.”  
  
Roxy ducked out of the bedroom and slammed the door closed after her, shutting out the sound of ranting. The change was immediate, and unpleasant. They might share a body, but there was absolutely no ambiguity as to whether it was Calliope or Caliborn currently using it. Roxy sighed and went to the kitchen to fetch Caliborn's dinner. As bad as he was most of the time, he was even more prone to tantrums when he was hungry. She shook herself and tried to clear her head. Whatever she thought about Caliborn, they were going to have to have a long talk about what was going on. She poured herself a glass of something fortifying, to prepare herself. It was going to be a trying night, but she had to try. Calliope obviously didn't want to worry her but it was becoming increasingly clear that she was getting sicker.  
  
The next day another difficult conversation took place upstate, in a well presented and modern hospital that overlooked a sweeping view of the peaceful Lake Carnegie. The office of the Dean of Medicine looked out over manicured lawns and trees, and projected a sense of serene, but stern authority most of the time. This effect was entirely lost as the peace of the room was disturbed by the metronome-regular tapping as the occupant of a chair before the wide, well-appointed desk insisted on tapping it on the floor while he was being lectured to. The man was rumpled and dishevelled, with fully three days of stubble showing on his face and tousled hair that had not seen a comb in at least as long. He was dressed in a rather shabby suit which was offset with gaudy red-and-white trainers. Behind the desk, he noted, the Dean of Medicine was about to shout at him. He lifted his cane an inch, let it fall against the floor.  
“House! Would you please stop that infuriating racket and listen to what I'm saying!”  
“What, oh this?” House indicated his cane as though he had only just noticed that he had brought it in with him, “it's a form of Buddhist meditation. The sound helps me concentrate on what you're saying more effectively.”  
“Yes but-” tap, tap, “it's a little difficult,” tap, tap, tap, “to talk to-” tap, “HOUSE!”  
“You should try it. You look a little bit stressed,”  
The Dean of Medicine leant forwards slightly, pressing her palms to the desk surface, visibly containing her wrath.  
“You're doing this just to annoy me, House, and it's not going to work.”  
House grinned and laid the cane across his lap. Doctor Cuddy sighed and gave him a sarcastic half-smile.  
“Now,” she said with barely suppressed frustration, “do you have anything to say?”  
“Are you asking me as my boss?”  
“I'm asking you as the Dean of Medicine of this hospital, House. Take this seriously.”  
“I thought we'd got past all that, I was hoping for a little sexual tension here.”  
“Can I take it then that you aren't going to lodge any objection?”  
“Does it count if I tell you that you're completely wrong on this one? How about if I remind you that I'm the only one with relevant experience in this area.”  
Cuddy sat back and regarded House warily. She was used to seeing him petulant, difficult, plain awkward, but it was rare to see him be jealously possessive of anything. The very idea of it would be an intolerable show of weakness on his part, normally.  
“You have to appreciate, that's the reason we're taking this step. You're literally the only person with any first-hand medical experience of xenomedicine, what the hell am I supposed to do if one of them turns up sick and you're busy?”  
“I can clear my schedule, I have a very accommodating team. Always willing to do anything to help.”  
“This isn't just about medicine, this is about medical science. You have to step back sooner or later and let other people get involved. It's not like your notes are much use.”  
“Other people like who?”  
“Well, the department of epidemiology, for a start, and the CDC has expressed an interest in sending some representatives in.”  
“Isn't it up to the patient to select their preferred healthcare provider?”  
“Of course. That's why you need to tell them to talk to some of our other doctors.”  
“They don't want other doctors, they like me.”  
“And you just love rubbing everyone's face in that, don't you?”  
By now the insistent tapping had started again.  
  
After the incident with the troll Kanaya Maryam, word had spread among the minuscule troll community. Now, any time that any of them came down with so much of a sniffle he got a call. House had already used the opportunity to charge many expensive plan trips- all first class- to the hospital as he made his rounds across the country. Kanaya had been, and still was, a lynch pin of the tiny troll society that had developed, a society of only twelve or so members. She organised them, kept them together, and when they needed help she told them where to go. Their biology was incredible, and seemed to vary considerably from individual to individual. Each troll was a unique medical puzzle to be solved.  
  
And House was loving it.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

  
    Calliope struggled fitfully and cried out. She was hanging in blackness, struggling weakly against a smothering presence the threatened to crush her and blot her out entirely. A blanket of pure darkness enfolded her, ensnaring her limbs and driving the breath from her body. With the last gasp she could muster she screamed...  
  
“Calliope!” Roxy was yelling over and over.  
Calliope opened her eyes at last and gasped for breath hoarsely. Roxy was tugging at her sheets where they had wrapped around her in a bundle.  
“Calliope!” Roxy repeated, “you there, hon?”  
“Roxy?”  
“Callie! Ohmygod ohmygod I was so scared! I thought you weren't coming back!”  
“What happened?”  
Roxy told her.  
  
Caliborn had been unusually subdued that night. Roxy had woken up with a start, sitting upright in bed. Something was wrong, and she had to take a moment to re-orient herself and work out what it was. She realised with a start that she couldn't hear anything from Caliborn's room. That kid couldn't go five minutes without hitting something or yelling at something or, at the very least, typing with loud, clattering strokes. Roxy frowned and pulled a robe around her as she ran down the short corridor to Calliope's room, cracking open the door suspiciously. Caliborn was flat on his back, breathing raggedly. He had thrown the sheets around him randomly and looked like he had just run a mile. Roxy approached slowly, noting carefully that the manacle around his ankle was still in place. Caliborn opened his eyes and watched her balefully as she stepped close to the bed.  
“What,” he paused, “you want, bitch?”  
“I don't get it. Why aren't you yelling and shit, like usual?”  
Caliborn rolled onto his side, facing away from her, “I do what I want, fuck you.”  
Roxy was concerned now. Caliborn was never so quiet. She sat on the bed and touched her palm against his back experimentally, and he didn't even curse at her. Roxy drew back her hand and slapped at his back ineffectually.  
“Listen to me you lil' shit! What have you done? Tell me!”  
“Fuck off bitch! Bitches everywhere,” Caliborn muttered vaguely. He drew in around himself, curling into a foetal position.  
“I know you've done something, what is it! I won't let you hurt her!”  
“I'm not telling you anything! Fuck... off!”  
Roxy hit him again and this time Caliborn reacted, squirming around to claw at her. With a shock she realised that she could bat away his attacks with ease, it was almost as if he was still half-asleep.  
“What have you done?” Roxy was sobbing now, “tell me or I'll-”  
“You'll what, human? Come on, what do you think you're going to do?” Caliborn smirked at her weakly, “you're pathetic, I always knew it. That's how you figure people out with cunning!”  
“I want her back,” Roxy said quietly, “I'm bringing her back right now.”  
“Don't you dare! You bitch! I'll kill you, I'll drink your fucking blood!”  
Caliborn went for her, rolling over on the bed to grab at her, and only succeeding in tangling himself in the sheets. Roxy ducked back in alarm and cried out her name.  
“Calliope!”  
  
Calliope sighed and pushed herself upright, wincing at a sudden sharp pain in her wrists. She rubbed her hands absently over her stomach and groaned.  
“Cally, I'm going to call an ambulance, okay? You just wait here.”  
“No! No I don't want any of that!”  
“Don't worry! It's going to be all right, 'kay? I'll take care of everything.”  
“No-o-o!” Calliope grabbed for her hands, “please, I'm fine! I promise. Okay?”  
Roxy frowned and sat next to her on the bed.  
“You promise? You look me in the eye and promise me there's nothing wrong with you.”  
Roxy looked at her, and Calliope couldn't meet her gaze. She just looked down and shrugged.  
“I'm calling an ambulance.”  
“Roxy, I'm afraid.”  
“I know hon, I am too, okay? I am too.”  
  
A chaotic jumble of an apartment reverberated to the harsh bleeping of a mobile phone. It was then joined by the frantic squeak of a pager. After a few moments the land-line started to ring, too. In the bedroom a weary hand snaked out from under the covers and reached for the phone where it was bleeping and vibrating on the night-stand. The occupant of the bed took a look at the phone blearily, registered the time and answered it.  
“It's three in the morning.”  
There was silence as the caller delivered their urgent message.  
“Which one is it this time? Uh huh. What's the- Uh huh. Uh huh.”  
House grunted and pulled himself round to throw his feet out of bed and onto the floor with a thump, and reached for his cane.  
“Who's the surgical consult tonight?”  
House got unsteadily to his feet and hobbled over to the bathroom, blinking rapidly in pain when he flicked the light on. He looked at his hangdog expression in the mirror and ran the faucet while he listened, before splashing some water across his cheeks.  
“I want an abdominal ultrasound and fully blood panel done as soon as the ambulance arrives. Uh huh. Yeah, I'll be there in twenty...” he took another look at himself in the mirror, “thirty minutes. Yeah. Well I'm guessing the traffic will be good.”  
House unscrewed a plastic bottle with one hand and expertly delivered two pills from the bottle directly into his mouth, reaching down to cup some water and slurp it from his palm. He was about to end the call when he thought of something. He pinched the bridge of his nose and grunted.  
“One more thing. Is this Cuddy's way of punishing me? Huh. Well better wake her up and let her know what's going on. Oh yes, you should call her right now. Let me give you her cell- no her other one,” House grinned at himself, “she leaves this one on permanently, better make a note of it in case she forgot to give you the number. You got a pen?”  
  
Calliope was given a comfortable hospital bed and was huddled fearfully in the blankets when House arrived. The alien girl had, by turns, terrified and fascinated the hospital staff but her sheepish grin was infectious and the indomitable duty nurse had firmly taken Calliope under her wing, shooing away any curious gawkers and eager doctors who wanted to take a look.  
  
By the time House arrived at Princeton Plainsboro the atmosphere in the hospital had settled back down into the sleepy night-time routine. An admission outside of hours was exceedingly rare, and most of the work being done was simply routine checks on patients. House strode implacably across the concourse towards the elevators, pointedly refusing to acknowledge anyone. He paused only to accept a clipboard full of hastily scribbled notes from an attending physician. He glanced over the information, nodded brusquely and handed it back. He hit the elevator call button with the end of his cane and rode the short ride up to where Calliope's room awaited.  
  
When House pulled open the sliding door to the room without knocking, he was met by the sight of a terrified alien pulling a sheet all the way up to her eyes. House glanced from her to the human girl sat on a stool pensively by the bed. The two were obviously close, and watching him with a mixture of pleading hopefulness and wary caution.  
“My name is Doctor House,” he began, “I need to ask you some questions, ah,” he checked the notes again briefly, “Calliope. That's Cal-eye-oh-pee, right?”  
Calliope nodded mutely, watching him with wide eyes.  
“Fine. So, have you come into contact with any fungal agents or unusual substances recently? Any drugs I should know about?”  
“Uh,” Roxy began, “my name is Roxy, hi,”  
House glanced at her as if noticing her for the first time, “right. So anything I should know about?”  
“No, I don't think so,” said Calliope quietly, “nothing like that.”  
“Are you aware of any family history of disease of any kind? Are you on any kind of medication?”  
“Excuse me,” Roxy interjected pointedly, “she said nothing like that, okay?”  
“I'll decide what's relevant,” House turned back to Calliope, approaching the bed and pulling a stethoscope out of a drawer, “I'm going to have to run a lot of tests, we'll be here a while, so you'd better get used to the idea of answering a whole lot of questions, over and over. That's how this goes- and then, after a while, if we're lucky, I work out what's going on and maybe even something to do about it. So, why not make things easier and just answer me when I ask you things. I promise I'll be gentle,” he added sarcastically.  
“You're a real asshole,” Roxy pointed out, “how did you get to be a doctor?”  
“Study, learning things, reading books, all that good stuff. How did you get to be a doctor?”  
“Uh, I'm not?”  
“Really? I guess I don't have to take tips on medicine from you then. I'll bear it in mind.”  
Calliope held up a hand and winced, “stop arguing! Please!”  
House frowned and reached out to take her hand. “Does it hurt when you move your hand?”  
Calliope nodded slowly, “yes.”  
“For how long?”  
Roxy cut in, “it's been a few days.”  
House looked pointedly at Calliope and she glanced away.  
“Two months, maybe more. Since summer.”  
Roxy flushed, “Cally! You should have said something!”  
“I'm sorry Roxy!”  
“Fun!” House snapped, “are we done yet? All right then. Calliope, can you move your hand like this?” He demonstrated and watched her carefully, “how about when you move your fingers? Tell me when it hurts.”  
  
This went on. House seemed to have no end of questions, and neither Roxy or Calliope could fathom any particular rhyme or reason to them. Eventually he seemed satisfied and got up.  
“Get some sleep,” he yawned, “in the morning we'll have the bloods and I'm going to run some more tests, we'll see what we can turn up.”  
Calliope looked at Roxy nervously and coughed. Roxy blinked and then sat up, remembering. She reached down for the large shoulderbag she had brought and opened it.  
“Uh, Doc? There's something else.”  
“What is it?”  
Roxy pulled a set of steel handcuffs out of the bag with a sigh, “there's a bit more we have to explain. We're gonna need these babies.”  
House had been about to leave. He turned back toward them with a quizzical expression.  
“This I have to hear.”  
  
The morning came and gradually the hospital began to fill up with all kinds of people. The sick came needing help,he well came to visit the sick, and various medical staff came to be sandwiched between them. The admission of an alien being to the hospital was certainly the news of the day, but then there was always some new crisis arising and so even Calliope's presence became lost in the hubbub.  
  
House limped his way across the office, rapping his knuckle against a whiteboard in time to his staccato sentences.  
“Symptoms! Fatigue, joint pain, abdominal pain in right upper quadrant diffusely. No fever, no effusion. No sign of drug use or exposure to infectious agents. No radiating pain, no known neuropathies. Go.”  
Around the long table, the team of fellows that he had called in looked at one another cautiously. None of them wanted to be the first to answer. Eventually, Chase made encouraging gestures at Foreman and mimed the words 'go on!'  
“House. I just want to get something clear,” Foreman began slowly, “this isn't a joke, right? I mean, we are talking about the alien here? The actual, honest-to-God, not-human alien?”  
House stood in front of the whiteboard, staring into his scrawl of writing.  
“Yes, that's right.”  
“And you're asking us here for a differential diagnosis?”  
“Yes.”  
“On an alien.”  
“On symptoms,” House turned, and rapped the board with his cane, “ignore the patient, look at the symptoms.”  
“It's pretty hard to ignore the fact that none of the people in this room have the slightest idea how to make any kind of an effective diagnosis.”  
“Aw, come on I bet if you try, you can ignore all kinds of things. Let's all just wish real hard, how about it?”  
Talb had not said anything yet, but he spoke up.  
“Inflammatory disorder?”  
“Good!” House perked up, “except for the stupid. No edema.”  
  
Cameron picked up the thread of conversation, “that doesn't exclude an inflammatory connective tissue problem,”  
Talb: “Rheumatoid?”  
Foreman: “This is ridiculous.”  
Chase: “Loss of cartilage- juvenile diabetes? Metabolics?”  
Cameron: “According to the notes she practically lives on candy, you think there's a link there?”  
Chase: “Could be, do we have the bloods back yet?”  
   
Foreman had finally had enough. He slapped a hand down on the table with a loud crack. From the corner House, who had been watching them, looked up.  
“House! We're all doctors. Not vets, not astronauts, we do people. We do medicine. We don't do aliens. We don't have any business making wild guesses and potentially only making things worse- and you know that!”  
House shrugged eloquently, and made his way back to the whiteboard.  
“Quite right,” he said, “I feel suitably chastened. And now I've been put in my place, anyone who wants to get off the ride and leave the fairground can do so right now.” He indicated the door with his cane briefly. “Doors open. The scary carnies will let you go if you pass them a silver dollar.”  
The team shared glances. They all wanted to say something but none of them were willing to pass up the opportunity. Foreman stood up.  
“If I'm the only one,” he said, pointing at the others in turn as he did, “who has the basic sense of medical ethics to not get involved in this case then I guess I didn't know you all as well as I thought.” He turned and shrugged on his suit jacket, striding out of the room angrily.  
“That's dramatic,” noted House, “but futile. He'll be back.”  
“What makes you think that?” Chase asked.  
“Cuddy is insisting I share my cool new patients with the other kids, and she won't let all of you in the same room as me without Stonewall Blackson to keep an eye on you. Wouldn't want me to have too much fun.”  
Talb gave the others a sardonic look, “am I the only one to find that statement offensive on more then one level?”  
Chase just smiled and Cameron shrugged, saying, “I'm so used to it by now I barely even notice any more.”  
House went back to his musing over the whiteboard.  
“Foreman was right about one thing though. We don't know enough yet. When Cuddy sends him back down here tell him I want a full body MRI, get me a nice juicy tumor I can cut out and I'll buy you all a coke.”  
  
They were interrupted by a high-pitched scream, followed by the sight of one of the nursing staff running away down the corridor outside the frosted glass walls of the office. From down the corridor came a ranting stream of the foulest curses. As one, the team members turned to look at House.  
“Oh yeah,” he slapped his forehead theatrically, “there's another symptom I forgot to mention.”  
In a hospital room, attached to bleeping monitors and chained to an unfamiliar bed, Caliborn was awake.  
  



	3. Chapter 3

    The room reverberated to the sound of confused, enraged cursing as House entered. Caliborn was on the bed struggling fitfully against his bonds, and when he saw House he snapped his jaws threateningly and redoubled his efforts.  
“Good morning!” House said gaily, “my name is Dr House, I'm the crazed alien who's been assigned to cut you apart with lots of cool knives, I work for the government.”  
At that, Caliborn hesitated, rolling his eyes in confusion.  
“You- what?”  
“Sure! I'm going to do all kind of terrible things. I just love making people suffer.”  
Caliborn gaped, processing what he had just been told. House took the opportunity to stick a tongue depressor between his jaws and take a rapid glance at his analogue of tonsils, seeing no sign of infection.  
“Argh! Murderer! Fucking asshole!” Caliborn spat at him.  
“Really? Huh. I always thought I was charming and inviting. That explains a few things though.”  
“Who are you? Anyway?”  
“I told you. I'm your doctor. That means I'm going to try to make you better but don't worry, you don't need to feel glad about it. So! What did you take?”  
“What are you talking about?”  
“Drugs? I'm guessing drugs. You can tell me, we're buddies now. You get hold of some pills one day and thought you'd teach dear sister a lesson?”  
Caliborn sullenly looked away, “I don't know what you're talking about, fucking asshole.”  
“I believe you.”  
“You do?”  
“You just called me an asshole twice, if you were going to lie about it you would have come up with a story in advance and been more inventive with your cursing.”  
“You don't know me.”  
“I don't have to, apparently if I just mention your sister then I don't have to deal with you any more. She's much nicer to talk to, we get along just great. We're going out for ice cream later.”  
  
Caliborn just huffed grumpily and rattled his chains a little on principle. House busied himself checking the notes at the end of the bed and made a point of adjusting the monitor that was displaying the equivalent of Caliborn's heartbeat. He said nothing, ignoring the little monster.  
“So what's wrong with me, anyway?”  
“Mm?”  
House sat down and clicked his pen a few times while he glared meaningfully at Caliborn's notes.  
“I said! What's wrong with me?”  
“I don't know, yet,” House admitted. “It would help if you'd answer all my questions.”  
“I don't want to talk to you. I don't like you.”  
“I don't like you either, its a small world after all.”  
Caliborn sneered, “you act tough, but you're here to look after me. I know what a doctor is.”  
House set down the clipboard and gave Caliborn a look. “I didn't go into medicine because I like people. I don't care about people, I care about diseases, symptoms. I solve problems, the people only get in my way.”  
“You're strange.”  
“I'm not here to chat to you. I want answers.”  
Caliborn made himself a little more comfortable in his pillows and glared at the ceiling.  
“Well. Just so long as we both know. Where we stand. This isn't going to turn into one of your sickening human friendships.”  
“Are you ready to answer my questions now?”  
“You can ask. I will answer what I want to. And I'll lie if I want, to keep you guessing.”  
“I'd know.”  
“How?”  
“I'm just... like... super smart.”  
“You're being sarcastic. I know all of your human emotions, I learned about them all. I have problems learning things which makes me learn them better because I work... harder.”  
  
House was surreptitiously writing on a notepad.  
“How long have you had these problems?”  
Caliborn shrugged, “always, I am the special one. My sister thinks she is so smart, which is what makes her such a dumb bitch.”  
“Do you ever have trouble thinking of the right word to say?”  
“Never! I am always the best at words and thinking!”  
  
House thought for a moment, staring at Caliborn and flicking his eyes to the handcuffs.  
“I have a key for those. What would you do if I unlocked them?”  
“Kill you! Immediately!”  
“I guess you'll never get better then.” House decided to take a chance, and got up. Roxy had given him the spare key so that she could go and get some rest, and if Calliope awoke then she could be let out of the cuffs. House calmly unlocked the handcuffs, locking eyes with Caliborn all the while. When they were open Caliborn rubbed at his wrists ruefully and glared back.  
“Well?”  
“Don't rush me,” Caliborn retorted, “I have my own plans. This is all part of my scheme.”  
“How about this,” House tried, “if I can't figure out how to make you feel better then you can just do whatever horrible things you have in mind, and in the meantime you let me do my job?”  
“Yes-s-s-s, get to it, human! Work for your life!” That seemed to satisfy Caliborn's ego.  
“First things first. You're going to have to have an MRI. Do you know what that is?”  
“No. Sounds fucking stupid.”  
“It's a cool machine that can look inside you, using magnets.”  
“How do magnets even fucking work.”  
“I'll explain later.”  
  
In the scanning facility that was part of the Princeton Plainsboro campus the great white doughnut of the MRI machine hummed and thumped threateningly around the alien as the scan took place. In the control room, sat before a dashboard-like arrangement of screens and controls, Taub glared at the scan result screen along with Chase, while Cameron observed the patient.  
“Foreman should be here for this,” Chase pointed out for not the first time.  
“Well, he isn't,” replied Taub philosophically, “and we can't wait.”  
“Look there, is that a lesion?”  
“Uhm-m,” Taub frowned, “no, artefact. Can you get him to lay still?”  
Cameron keyed the mike which led to a speaker near the scanner. “Lay still please, don't move and this will be over sooner.”  
The reply was vicious and she didn't bother keeping the line open to hear it clearly, but Caliborn at least tried to hold still.  
“This is stupid,” Cameron whispered, “why are we dealing with the bad one? I thought he turns into the nice alien if you just say her name?”  
“It gets better,” said Chase, “House wants one scan on him, then a repeat on the sister.”  
“I guess we're getting the hard part over with first, then.”  
“Mm. I wish Foreman was here for this though, he should be seeing these scans, we might be missing something.”  
Talb had at that point had enough. He glared at Chase and Cameron. “Aren't you at all curious why we're doing this?”  
“I just told you, House wants-”  
“No, I mean, why us? House always uses the duty radiographer with the aliens, he never consults.”  
The other two considered this. Cameron shrugged. “What are you thinking?”  
“House said, Cuddy is making him bring in other doctors to consult, so who does he pick?”  
“You, me, Chase, Foreman, so what?”  
“No- he picked you me and Chase. Cuddy made him take Foreman.”  
“Yes?”  
“We're the ones that House thinks he can control and manipulate the most easily. That's why Cuddy put Foreman on the team, she thinks he'll stop House getting all his own way.”  
Chase shook his head, “oh no, not again. I'm not getting into trying to figure out why House does anything, that road leads only to madness.”  
Cameron nudged him and smiled, “when did you get tired of trying to figure House out?”  
“I dunno, maybe when it started getting in the way of everything else? Come on, even if House thinks he can play us like puppets, so what? I'm actually getting to perform an MRI on a real alien. Frankly I don't care if it's one of House's games at this point.”  
Cameron and Talb shared a look at that and Talb shrugged wearily.  
“The man makes a good point.”  
“Come on,” Cameron indicated the screen, “lets get to it before he decides to throw another tantrum.”  
“Who, Caliborn? Or House?”  
“Take your pick.”  
In the scanner, Caliborn groaned and rubbed at his stomach.  
“Lie still, please.”  
  
Back in the office of the diagnostic team, House looked over the stills from the scans they had done while the team sat around the table. He was about to talk when the door opened, and Foreman came in. House silently pushed a chair away from the table with his cane, and Foreman just glanced at him for a moment and sat down.  
  
“Symptoms.” House began. “Generalised abdominal pain, joint pain, fatigue. What else?”  
“Bloods are clear,” Chase sighed, “no drugs that a standard tox-screen would pick up, that's even if the blood chemistry works the way we think it should.”  
“Diabetes?”  
“The blood sugar level would suggest not,” Chase drummed his fingers on the tabletop, “that's not to say the patient even has a pancreas, let alone a requirement for insulin so... that's a cautious assessment.”  
“I still think we're looking at a systemic inflammatory disorder,” Talb said, “it's too convenient to have all these sites of pain at once, there's got to be a single underlying cause.”  
“So, rheumatoid,” House mused, “any advances? Going once, going twice?”  
Foreman rubbed his chin, “Amyloidosis?”  
“I have amyloidosis, any advance on amyloidosis?” House looked round the table.  
“It'd give us the joint pain and fatigue,” Cameron nodded, looking back at Foreman.  
Talb shook his head, “I'd expect to see some kind of skin changes in an amyloid disorder at this stage. And the MRI didn't pick up any sign of plaques.”  
“Early stage build up, no skin changes due to unusual skin makeup,” countered Foreman.  
House held up the scan flimsies, “what did the MRI give us?”  
“Not much,” Cameron answered, “but I'd like to check the liver more closely, if that thing is even a liver.”  
“Why?”  
“Here-” Cameron held out her hand and House passed over the scans. She showed one of them to Foreman and identified an area with the end of a pen, “what does that say to you?”  
Foreman frowned, “artefacts on the scan? Looks a little hazy to me.”  
“Maybe, maybe. Or a cirrhosis?”  
  
House looked up at that. They all looked over at him.  
“Alcoholic poisoning,” Cameron mused, “could explain a lot.”  
Talb shrugged, “and from what we know, the brother wants to punish the sister, right? So maybe he's been sneaking drinks.”  
House frowned, steepling his fingers and staring through them. The others waited.  
“Ultrasound the liver. I'm going to speak to the girlfriend.”  
Cameron raised an eyebrow. “Girlfriend?”  
“Didn't you notice? They're totally doing the wild thing.”  
“You're disgusting.”  
“Yeah,” House grinned, “but you gotta love my style.”  
  
By late afternoon Calliope was back, and Roxy was sharing a meal with her in the hospital room. Things had not improved and Calliope was no longer trying to hide the way that her joints were all hurting her. She seemed sleepy all the time, and whenever she dozed off a cranky and irritable Caliborn immediately woke up.  
“Try to eat more,” Roxy said quietly, “for me, okay?”  
“I'm trying. I'm just so sleepy, Roxy.”  
“Hey don't say that, I don't want to be left with your asshole brother!”  
“Has he been a lot of trouble?”  
Roxy shrugged. “That doctor guy seems to kind of have him under control, it's weird.”  
“That's nice.”  
“I got another chapter done, too.”  
“That's nice.”  
“You totally have to look at it, I think there's a few spelling mistakes in there.”  
“Yes, it's nice.”  
Calliope smiled weakly but her eyelids were drooping.  
  
House stepped into the room without knocking. “Knock, knock.”  
“Hello doctor,” Calliope smiled and nodded a little.  
“How are we feeling now?” House took a seat.  
“I'm okay, I think I'm a bit better.”  
“Really? Because you look awful. Just awful.”  
Calliope looked at him wide-eyed for a moment, before cracking into an honest grin.  
“Well, this isn't just a social call. I wanted to ask you something- both of you.”  
Roxy looked up, “oh yeah?”  
House nodded, “do you keep any alcohol in your home?”  
Roxy and Calliope shared a look.  
“Uhm,” Roxy held up a hand, “kind of?”  
  
Caliborn woke up and looked out of the window. The glass was dark, it was night outside. He held up his hands wearily and there were no chains.  
“You mother fuck!”  
Caliborn looked around just in time to see Roxy grab him by his hospital gown and shake him roughly.  
“You've been drinking? Oh my god, how could you? How much did you take?”  
“What- ah!”  
“You piece of shit! I can't believe I ever let you-” she shook him harder and Caliborn just flopped about weakly like a puppet without strings.  
“Get off me you horrible bitch!”  
“You're not getting out of this one, I swear if you've hurt my Callie, I'll beat the shit out of you!”  
  
She finally dumped him back against the pillows, and Caliborn glared at her ruefully.  
“I don't know what you're talking about, bitch!”  
“Doctor House scanned Callie's liver, we know everything. You've been drinking her to death you fucking piece of shit! How did you do it, huh? How did you get into the booze?”  
Caliborn snarled at her, “what do you mean, the bottles you leave everywhere around the place? They smell horrible, I don't want them.”  
Roxy pressed her wrists against her eyes, desperately concentrating to keep the tears in.  
“I fucking knew you were up to something. You're so horrible, how could you do this to her?”  
Caliborn just stared resolutely at the ceiling, “make sense or fuck off, I'm tired.”  
“Oh no, no you don't,” Roxy slapped him and he yelped in pain, “you're not going anywhere, not this time. Guess what they're going to do to you? Go on, guess!”  
“What are you babbling about now?”  
“They need to do surgery,” Roxy leered horribly at him, “they're going to try and do something about the damage you caused. And guess what? Normally they put people to sleep when they do surgery, but that isn't going to work this time. They tried it on Callie, and here you are! So, what do you think that means?”  
Caliborn stared at her for a long moment. “Fuck this. I don't want this.”  
“Too late, you fucker! You're going under the knife! Not Callie, you! YOU!”  
  
Foreman burst into House's office, to find him rolling a ball back and forth across his desk contemplatively.  
“House!”  
“Hi.”  
“Tell me you're not planning what they're telling me.”  
“Depends. Did they make it sound cool and edgy? If so then it's probably me.”  
Foreman leaned over the desk.  
“I'm not going to let you perform surgery without sedative.”  
“We can use sufficient pain relief to get him through it. Besides, I won't be doing the surgery, Talb is taking it.”  
“It's barbaric!”  
“Oh please. Laparoscopic approach to portal vein surgery? That's some high-tech stuff, nothing barbaric about it.”  
“I knew you were a bastard, but this is too much even for you.”  
“With surgery we can give her liver a chance to heal, without it she dies. I'd say I'm making the only humane choice.”  
“There's nothing humane about this. Do you think Cuddy would allow it?”  
“Depends. If the patient had signed a full consent and legal waiver? If the next of kin had been consulted and they agreed? She just might agree, then.”  
House tapped his desk meaningfully, where some signed legal documents lay. Foreman gaped.  
“How can someone sign a waiver for you to do surgery on another person, without a sedative?”  
“I don't know what you're talking about, Calliope signed right here.”  
“But you're not doing the surgery on Calliope!”  
“We've been through this with legal. Multiple personality disorder doesn't imply several legal entities. I have my patient's informed consent to proceed.”  
“You think that you can get out of the ethical landmine you just stepped on by hiding behind a technicality?”  
“This surgery will save both their lives. Caliborn too. I'm doing the only thing I can to save my patient, and that's the only technicality I need.”  
Foreman stood up and backed away slowly. “You're some kind of a monster, House.”  
“A monster with a live patient? I'll take that over a saint with a dead one.”  
  
Roxy stopped at the door to the room and looked back at the bed. Caliborn was squirming weakly and trying to get to his feet. She smiled grimly.  
“This is all my fault. But I'll see you bleed before I let you hurt my Callie any more.”  
  



	4. Chapter 4

The operating room was sparse, chilly and sterile. This was where the ultimate work of the doctor's art as done. No space was wasted, everything had a purpose in this room, everything had a reason to be there. In the antechamber to the surgical space, Talb and Chase were preparing themselves, washing and applying their surgical garments with the help of assisting nurses.  
“I don't like it,” said Chase, looking over nervously, “do you?”  
“Of course I don't like it,” Talb spat, “what do you think, I'm jumping for joy?” He grunted roughly at the nurse who tied the back of his surgical gown.  
“Have you ever done anything like this before?”  
“No. Of course not.”  
“Have you thought about how we're going to handle this?”  
Talb closed his eyes tightly and took a deep breath, letting it out slowly before he answered.  
“I'm going to do everything humanly possible to make my patient as comfortable as possible during a potentially life-saving procedure.” He sighed and glanced at Chase, “look, take my advice. Think about it like a job, nothing more. Don't look at the patient any more then you have to, don't talk to him. It's just a job to be done.”  
“I don't know if I can just do that,” said Chase softly.  
“You put two little letters in front of your name. So you have to do that, doctor.”  
  
In the hospital cafeteria the nightly meal was being served, for those doctors who were inevitably working late or those who had nothing more pressing in the world to keep them away from the place. This time of night was always the quietest time there, and it was an unofficial rest-stop for those doctors who knew they were going to be pulling a late-nighter, one last chance to enjoy a little comfort and human contact before facing the work of the night. Doctor Wilson was a regular, these days. He picked up a simple meal of hummus, breadsticks and fruit from the canteen and went to sit down. He liked to make a little bit of a ritual of meals like this, and so he took his time arranging a napkin and opening up the files of work he intended to glance through while he ate. There were few other diners and most of them were finishing up a quick meal at the same time as he was beginning one and so Wilson was alone before long.  
  
House inserted himself into a peaceful situation rudely, materialising silently and sitting opposite Wilson and grabbing a breadstick without asking, crunching it noisily.  
“House! For a man with a cane, how do you move so quietly sometimes?”  
House grinned and raised his eyebrows, “I'm Batman.”  
“do you really have to bother me right now? I thought your patient was going into surgery soon. Everyone's talking about it, you know.”  
“I don't need to consult, Talb and Chase will handle it, I'll pick up the theater notes after they're done and see the patient in the morning.”  
“You're not going to observe?”  
“No need for me to be there.”  
Wilson knew better then to engage House in conversation, he had learned that lesson well, but he couldn't resist.  
“House, how can you ask your fellows to perform this surgery and not even bother to sit in?”  
“I trust them to perform to the best of their abilities. It's called delegation, I read a book on it.”  
“You're one cold bastard, sometimes.”  
“I produce healthy patients, not happy ones.”  
House helped himself to another breadstick.  
“You really think you're right to do this?”  
“I've brought together all the evidence, and it all points to an imminent portal vein event, what would you do?”  
“Not this!”  
“Guess the kid's lucky to get me as a doctor.”  
“Yeah. Sure.”  
  
They were interrupted at that point by another late diner. Roxy came up to the table and coughed softly.  
“Heya, docs. Mind if I join ya?”  
House shook his head at Wilson and made it rudely obvious he was not happy with the idea.  
“Please,” said Wilson, offering a seat, “go ahead. This must be a very difficult time.”  
House gave Wilson a witheringly sour look. Wilson just smiled back at him.  
  
Roxy had a tray bearing a meal, if it could be called that, of tacos and some kind of a dip, along with a tall glass of orange juice. She nibbled daintily and House  made angry expressions at Wilson.  
“Well,” House coughed, “I need to... yeah...”  
“Oh Jesus,” Roxy planted her face in her hands, “how could he do this to his own sister?”  
House groaned inwardly. Wilson placed a hand on her back and rubbed softly.  
“My name is Doctor Wilson,” he said calmly, “I don't know too much about this case, but I want to say I understand how you feel, and she's in the best possible hands.”  
Roxy favoured him with a vague smile.  
“You know, he didn't even fight about it, when they came with the wheely-bed thing.”  
“A guerney,” said House gruffly.  
“Yeah. I... I said some things to him. I said I was glad, what they were going to do. I meant it!”  
Wilson made calm sounds, indicating that he was listening but not judging. House just watched.  
“He just calmed right down,” Roxy continued, “it was like, he wasn't going to give me the satisfaction of seeing him get scared. He just said he wanted to get right to it, soon as possible. That son of a bitch!”  
Wilson glanced at House before speaking, “any kind of surgery is scary, it's understandable if people react differently to that kind of stress. Believe me, there's no way to tell how someone is going to approach it.”  
“Yeah, sure,” Roxy sniffed, “but he, like, wasn't even afraid, you know?”  
“Well,” said House, “this has been fun...”  
Wilson smacked him on the arm, without stopping rubbing Roxy's back.  
  
Roxy lifted her glass ruefully and drank some orange. “Don't suppose they serve anything stronger here?”  
“No,” the doctors both answered at once.  
“No matter. I'm on this, from now on. It's silly, I always made Callie drink her orange and eat her greens, and I kept on drinking.” She sobbed, softly.  
“Well,” Wilson said uncertainly, “I'm sure Doctor House can-” he paused, trailing off.  
  
House was staring at the orange juice, transfixed. Wilson knew that look.  
“Hm?” Roxy asked. Wilson just held up a finger to his lips. House nodded slowly.  
“You made her drink her orange- every day?”  
“Um? Sure? I mean, I have to check on her a lot, so we have this, like, this thing where I get her a drink now and then, yeah?”  
“Stop the surgery,”  
“What?”  
“House?”  
House shouted, “STOP THE SURGERY!”  
  
In the operating room, one of the nurses went to the wall where a phone was mounted and picked up the receiver, listening intently.  
  
Roxy sprinted down the corridor toward the operating theatre. She had to pause at every intersection and wait for Wilson, who pointed out the way to go, and House who was bringing up the rear as best he was able.  
  
Talb looked up. He handed back the scalpel to the waiting hand of an assisting nurse and looked over toward the phone with a quizzical expression, tilting his head and holding a hand up to his ear.  
“What did you just say?”  
  
Roxy yelled and screamed, hammering on the sealed door to the operating suite, while a gowned, masked attendant on the other side of the glass looked on in surprise. Wilson charged up to the door and held up his ID card, yelling for them to stop everything. The attendant nodded in understanding and unlocked the door.  
  
House made his way to the OR, his leg burning all the way up his side. The pain was as intense as he'd ever felt it and he relished the sensation for a moment. He allowed himself that one moment of luxury in his sensations before the overwhelming force of it nearly brought him to his knees. When he made it to the doorway which hung open he was softly sobbing under his breath.  
“Stop! Suh-stop it, it's off! Stop the suh-surgery!”  
The attendant came out of the doorway and reached for him, holding him by the shoulders, to help him stay upright.  
“Stop the surgery!”  
“I know!”  
“Call it off!”   
“House! I know!”  
The attendant yanked his mask down, and House was staring, wide-eyed, into Foreman's face.  
“I already called ahead. I told them to abort the procedure.”  
House stared at him incredulously for a moment, and staggered back, resting heavily on his cane.  
“You called off my surgery?”  
“I couldn't let them go ahead with it, House.”  
“YOU called off MY surgery?”  
“I made a call!” Before House could remonstrate further Foreman jabbed him in the chest with a fingertip, “you had something you ran up here to say?”  
“Stop the surgery,” House said weakly, “it's not alcoholic liver, it's hemochromatosis.”  
Foreman just stared at him.  
  
Calliope woke up to see pastel streaks of dawn-light streak dramatically across the ceiling. She blinked, slowly remembering all that she could. She sat up with a groan and rubbed her stomach, and realised with a sharp sting that her wrist hurt. Roxy, who had been sleeping in a chair in the corner got up with a squeal of delight and rushed over to hug her. In the doorway, House was talking to an attending and looked over as she awoke. His expression was unreadable.  
“What happened?” Calliope whispered.  
“It's okay honey, you're fine, we called off the surgery.”  
“Oh, oh no! What happened?”  
House interjected, “new diagnosis. It wasn't what we thought it was.”  
“So, what was it?”  
  
House had gathered his team in the office as soon as everyone had arrived back in the hospital in the morning, for a meeting.  
“Symptoms!” House said sharply, “abdominal pain, cirrhosis of liver, systemic joint pain and fatigue!”  
Talb rubbed at his forehead wearily, “I assume this piece of theater has a purpose?”  
House plucked the top off a pen and wrote more on the whiteboard. The others watched while he wrote, in large, proud letters: CRANKY ASS HOLE.  
  
Chase was the first to bite, “you what?”  
“The attitude,” said House, “the aggression, the disordered thinking. Not a sign, as we thought, of a thoroughly deficient personality- they were a symptom.”  
Cameron laughed once, “you're saying that Caliborn's personality is a symptom?”  
“Of iron overload, yes.”  
That shut them up. Foreman, who had already heard the explanation once before in short gasped sentences outside the OR, chuckled.  
“All thy eat is candy and iron, right? To them, that's a normal diet. What does that diet say to you?”  
“Diabetes, for a start,” snorted Chase.  
“Right, but the sugar they can process, no problem. The protein, too, but the iron- not so easy. I would guess that they have a primary hemochromatosis, and always have.”  
Cameron chipped in, “so why the symptoms now?”  
“Simple,” House was enjoying himself now, “they had a restricted diet before, but since arriving here Calliope was being fed a lovely, balanced diet with plenty of- that's right- nutritious OJ.”  
Chase snapped his fingers, “the vitamin C!”  
“Right- increases uptake of, say it with me, iron.”  
“You're saying that the new diet turned them from borderline to symptomatic hemochromatosis?”  
House smirked triumphantly, “deposits in joints causing arthritic symptoms, sequestration of iron in the liver leading to cirrhosis and-” he circled the last symptom he had identified, “disorders of thought and development. Caliborn was never that way for no reason- he suffered the mental defects of hemochromatosis. It was all another symptom, staring us in the face.”  
“So,” said Foreman, “treatment.”  
  
House approached the bed and held out a sheet of paper, Calliope took it from him curiously.  
“Your new diet,” he explained, “and stick to it. Meanwhile, we're going to perform multiple phlebotomies over the next few weeks.”  
Calliope squeaked and Roxy squeezed her. House just grinned.  
“It just means we take some blood, you'll feel a little weak but nothing drastic. Reduce the amount of haemoglobin-carrying cells in your body, and those iron deposits will have to be broken down in order to replace them. No surgery- and you'll be feeling better very soon.”  
Calliope looked as though she was about to cry, “and... him?”  
House shrugged, “not for me to say. He's obviously been affected by this for a long time, so there's no telling what bringing your iron levels under control will do. You should know, this won't change who he is... but maybe take the foot off the gas a little.”  
“I don't understand,” Calliope shook her head and looked at Roxy.  
“He might calm down a bit, hon,” Roxy was openly crying now, “we'll deal with it all together, kay?”  
“Okay,” Calliope smiled widely.  
“Good,” said House, “I have to go to a meeting now, so...”  
“Oh! But doctor, I never thanked you!”  
“No need,” House coughed, “just rest up a little. You'll feel better soon.”  
  
House asked Foreman to meet him in his office later.  
“Do you have any explanation for what you did?”  
“Are you asking me to apologise?” Foreman glared at him boldly, unafraid.  
“I want you to explain the medical rationale behind what you did.”  
“There had to be a better way, that was my rationale.”  
“Not good enough. All of the evidence then available pointed to surgery as the only option.”  
“Are you pissed at me for making the call, or because I was right?”  
“Making the call,” House answered without hesitating, “the fact that you were right was irrelevant.”  
“If I'm ever right for the reasons that you're right,” Foreman growled, “I hope someone is there to stop me.”  
“If you ever pull something like that again you're fired- Cuddy or no Cuddy.”  
“I'll bear that in mind.”  
“Will that knowledge stop you in future?”  
“Probably not.”  
“Then you'd better hope you're never wrong.”  
  
They had to come back to the hospital over the weeks and months that passed, but House was right. Slowly, in time, things got better. The pain began to subside, and even though the blood-drawing left her feeling weak for a few days afterward, Calliope was definitely improving. In time, they both knew that she would be declared essentially cured.  
  
House came into the room in the hospital toward the end of the treatment cycle, he had been avoiding making contact out of principle because, to his mind, his work was done. He was surprised to see Caliborn sitting up in bed, watching him, patiently waiting for the machine slowly drawing blood from his body to be finished with him. House paused.  
“You're not going to get all bitey, are you?”  
“Nah.”  
“I wasn't expecting you. I just came to tell her- and you I suppose- that your levels are starting to look considerably reduced. I have no idea what “normal” is for you, but I'm prepared to say you're there.”  
“Huh.”  
House busied himself with the machine, with paperwork, limping around the room.  
“How do you feel?” House eventually asked.  
“Kind of... funny.”  
“Oh? How's that?”  
“I feel like,” Caliborn paused, and thought for a time, “a little... different.”  
“Do you still want to kill everyone you see?”  
Caliborn just shrugged.  
“What about your sister, and Roxy?”  
He shrugged again.  
“I guess I can put up with them.”  
“Have you said that to them?”  
“Mmm.”  
“And?”  
“I guess they're going to put up with me. Too.”  
  
House shrugged and sat down on the end of the bed, giving Caliborn a long, hard look.  
“You know, I think I preferred you as an asshole.”  
“I'm still an asshole,” replied Caliborn calmly.  
“You're scary when you're not yelling all the time.”  
“You liked that better?”  
“I like the truth. At least you always said what's on your mind.”  
“Doctor. Were you really going to cut me up?”  
“The surgery? I thought it was best.”  
“But, you were wrong?”  
“I figured it out in time.”  
“You were wrong, though.”  
“Yes... I was.”  
Calborn snapped his jaws a few times thoughtfully, but something of the rage in him was gone. Perhaps it was the loss of blood, or else the iron levels in his brain returning to normal.  
“Doctor House?”  
“Yes?”  
“What's hemochromatosis?”  
“It's iron overload, caused by the inability of the body to properly sequester-”  
“I mean. What does it mean. I don't know the word.”  
“Oh. It's Greek, it just means “disease of blood color,” because iron-bearing chemicals give human blood it's color.”  
“Ha!”  
Caliborn began to snicker weakly. House just smiled, and got to his feet. Caliborn met his eye and grinned, and House smiled back at him.  
“See you round, Doctor House.”  
“Maybe if you get sick again.”  
“If I do, I want you there to fix it.”  
“Sure, tell Cuddy that.”  
Caliborn laid back comfortably in his pillows and stared upward.  
“So. My sister, and that human.”  
“Yes?”  
“Tell me about them.”  
“I don't know them that well.”  
“Tell me,”  
“Well,” House shrugged, “they're in love?”  
“Will they be happy?”  
“That's the wrong question to ask a doctor. When people are happy, I get suspicious.”  
“So are you suspicious?”  
House grinned, “oh yeah, all the time.”  
  
  
  



End file.
